A Guy Like You
by flutflutflyer
Summary: Five hundred word drabbles of Bolin and Korra goodness. Borra.
1. Tense

A/N: A gift to a friend. Borra happens to be the cutest one-sided shipping yet. A five-hundred word drabble.

Let's just say . . . friendzoned.

* * *

She's perched on the steps, chin in her palm, looking sad. "I don't get it," she's saying, one finger playing with the crinkly ribbon on the cupcake. "Why is Mako so _ugh_?"

He's seated next to her, one leg stretched out, the other drawn up, his arm around his knee. To speak the truth, he's not entirely listening to her words so much as her tone, his gaze on the corded muscles of her back, tense and hardened as rocks. He inhales and edges towards her. "You seem stressed out, Kor." His hands alight on her shoulders, his thumbs tucking in the slight depression just above her shoulder blades. The heat of the afternoon sun is getting to him. Never mind that's a chillier day than it has been for a while. Definitely the sun. "Don't worry about my bro. So he got himself a girlfriend." His fingers dig into the fabric of her top; he feels the tautness where it begins to strain to curve about her generous breasts as he works his thumbs, trying to loosen up the knots, like he's seen at those fancy-shmancy spas. "Want to tell me what's up?" Though he can't tell if it's working, she does relax her neck, allowing the back of her head to rest on his chest.

He grins.

"It's just hard right now."

"I know what you mean." He realises what he has said and silences himself, but she doesn't seem to have noticed. Instead, he continues to massage her, his fingertips reaching out to her collarbone, the line tell-tale even beneath the shirt, and returning.

She shrugs. "Mako's gone googly-eyed over that nonbender, Tahno needs a kick in the nuts, and Tarrlok and Amon should get thrown in a pit together. That man . . ."

"Who? Tarrlok or Amon? Do you like that cupcake?"

Apparently seeing the confection for the first time, she plucks the ribbon from the steely blue icing and lifts the sweet, inhaling. She bites down, frosting sticking to her cheeks, and he can imagine a smile of delight spreading on her face. "Yeah, it's pretty good, Bo."

She called him _Bo_. "Good as I am?" Dropping his grip on her shoulders, he strikes a pose, and she rewards him with a laugh. "That's my first victory today!"

"Hey, come on. I liked that rubbing thing you were doing."

"Oh, sorry." He massages her again, noting how much less tense her muscles are. Score.

Slowly, she eases herself to lean on him, the cupcake nearly devoured. "I wish Mako was more like you, you know? Kind, and sweet, and funny."

He nudges her. "Someone who'll bring you flowers and cupcakes."

"Listen to my problems. Someone I can demand on. A rock, steady as the earth."

At this, he can't help but mentally pat himself on the back. "Korra, I—"

She turns around. "I want someone like you. But _where_ can I find him?"

He blinks.

She sighs. "It's like that guy doesn't exist."


	2. Cut

A/N: What was originally a one-shot turned into a short series. This doesn't necessarily follow "Tense" in any chronology. Korra is painfully oblivious, even when she herself realises that she's hurt Bolin, though not in the way she thinks. Mizu and Tirril are references to one of my old fanons on AW.

Why the reference to _Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon_? Because it was directed by Ang Lee. Aang and Lee/Zuko anyone? No? No? Am I kicked out of the fandom yet?

And thanks to my readers for being awesome sauce. [hands out cupcakes]

* * *

"The Hidden Dragons strike back with a furious one-two bending bonanza! It's a hot one, folks! Mizu unleashes her signature heat wave manoeuvre! But hold the phone, Tirril is putting a damper on _those_ flames. Mizu's hit! She flies across the arena! She's in Zone II! Zone III! And she's _out_ of the arena, folks. There's the timer. The Otter Penguins are _otterly_ unstoppable. Round two, coming—"

The radio buzzes, and the earthbending disc flies into the wall, missing the net by half a metre. A grating sound informs her that someone has picked it up. Frustrated, she jerks towards the noise: _Green_. He walks towards her, shifting the disc from one hand to the other, his fire ferret lazing on his shoulder. "Hey Korra."

"Why'd you turn it off?" she snaps, arms crossed over her chest. "Who gave you the right to barge in there when I'm trying to_ practice_?"

He arches his eyebrows and raises his hands in mock defence. "It's, uh, gym time for the Fire Ferrets? Didn't know it was for Avatars only." She snorts angrily and turns away from him, concentrating on the feel of rock, although she can't earthbend in the actual matches. Mornings like this, she just wants to kill something. From the reflection in the metal of a few water-filled training toys hanging from the wall, she sees him peel his shirt off and don a clean white training top, Pabu nestled in his old things.

"No Mako at practice today?" Her voice is slightly hoarse, or is that just her imagination?

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Guess not. Funny, because he's usually the first to go train. Suppose that girl put out his flames, eh? Though I would've thought the opposite. She'll get 'im fired up." The disc in his grip explodes into dust; she relishes the look of surprise on his face until she notes the blood marking a thin trail down his face where a shard of stone sliced into him. "What was that for?"

"Sorry," she mumbles. "Can I look at that? It looks pretty bad."

"You don't say?" Stepping up to her, he touches the cut with one hesitant forefinger. "It's not too bad."

Ashamed, she angles his chin for a better look. "It'll heal." She hopes. She was loath to take healing back in the South, considered it pansy. Who's pansy now, taking it out on him instead of his brother?

"Yeah, it's stopping already." He's lying to save face, she understands, so she wipes away the blood with a sleeve and takes a step back, stumbling over a set of weights on the floor. As the world tilts under her, she feels powerful hands grasp hers, pulling her upright. His eyes, the colour she'd never seen before arriving in Republic City, gaze at her, concerned. "You okay?"

"Fine." She hugs herself and looks away. "I'm sorry. I was just angry about Mako. I didn't mean to cut you that deeply."

He chuckles quietly. "No one does."


	3. Dream

A/N: Back for your daily dose of Borra?

It's not what you think. Bolin has a troubling realisation concerning Korra's . . . fiery taste, and yours truly has an excuse to write some claustrophobia. Also, I'm shifting the rating of this fanon up to a T, for hopefully . . . obvious reasons.

Inspired by a scene in _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_.

Again, not in any chronological order, even in regards to the other chapters, beyond it taking place sometime between 104 and 105.

The next chapter will be a tad more upbeat. Even a horror author like myself becomes a wee bit tired of writing gloom, doom, and friendzoning everywhere. Let's say we take Borra out for a test drive?

* * *

His heart is in his throat, his blood roaring in his ears, his mouth full of iron taste.

Faintly, he feels his back is pressed against the unyielding metal, his neck aching. The darkness swarms into his vision, shapes moving on the edges, though whether substance or shadow he can't say. Somewhere beyond Republic City, beyond his home, beyond whatever reality he knows is this van, carrying him into the unknown with little but ropes burning on his wrists and ankles, a spine threatening to snap, and a gag in his mouth, his lungs fighting for every scrap of air.

As far as he knows, he left his bending at the short-lived fight with the guys in gas masks: His arms and legs yet feel more akin to jelly than to bone and flesh.

He's only got one hope.

His brother saw him.

_She_ saw him.

"They'll find me," he tries to mumble around the gag. A pain sharp enough to redden the surroundings blossoms in his shoulder, his desperate cry of agony muffled. "Korra, Mako, _please_."

This time the silencing comes from one of the captives, cracking his ribs, possibly permanently. He thinks the fellow kidnapped looks somewhat like that girl, Asami, but he can't tell much aside on the deep hurt welling up over his entire body. Vaguely, he wonders how he'll play in the tournament. Defeated, he lies there quietly, shoulder blades screaming, his will drained out of him when he wasn't paying attention.

At last, the van stops harshly, pushing the corpses inside into one another. The door swings open, and he tumbles out. Instantly he yelps. Wherever he happens to be is full of bright light, white light, night light, the kind that sears the gaze and dulls the senses. After a fashion the intensity drops down. In response, he blinks, tears forming at the edges of his eyes, a fallen eyelash fixed on his cheek: The truth before him—Amon? The Equalists? His bending taken away?—is worse than anything he could have imagined.

It can't be real.

It _can't_.

His brother, his arms wrapped around her, throwing her to the ground, their lips locked, clawing at each other's clothing, tearing it off, moaning, screaming, together—

He can't look, he won't look, he must—

The ground gives way—

_Impact_.

"Bo!"

He bolts upright, confused and disoriented, the bright light back in his eyes, binds wrapped around him. Yelling, he attempts to earthbend at whomever is there, unwilling to accept reality, but a familiar voice cuts through his struggles: "Bo, it's me. Your brother. Remember me?" The light fades. His brother's amber eyes glint. "Are you okay, bro?" the firebender asks gently, embracing him with one arm. "What's wrong?"

As it dawns on him that the "binds" were only his wayward blanket, he lets himself slip gratefully into the hug. "Nothing." But when he blinks, he can still see her and his brother going at it like rabbiroos. "Just . . . just a nightmare."


	4. Test

A/N: Look, a happy chapter! Not only is this is a happy chapter, but it's actually part one of two. The resolution, not to be confused with the Revelation, is coming your way tomorrow.

I'm a car junkie, so the satomobiles excite me as much as they do Bolin. In his defence, though, he hasn't had the ability to get a licence, since he and Mako were dirt poor. Bo's love of cars will factor into _Scarf_, that prequel for LoK I'm writing about the fabulous bending brothers.

Though you have to admit that Bolin's the more fabulous of the two.

* * *

It excites him, all spun silver and layered metal and curved chrome, a great regal beast waiting for him to sit down, ignite the flames deep within its belly, and push it to its limits, growling like a tigerdillo.

He smiles. Oh, yes.

But the driving itself. Sure, he can play around with the steering, but growing up poor doesn't exactly entail free wheels to go with the box on the corner.

While he ignores his lack of expertise, he revolves around it, eager gaze raking over its sleek design, cushioned seats, and open carriage. His hands spread out on its metal, running over it, noting with dissatisfaction the thin layer of dust and grime that comes away on his fingers.

Undoubtedly it's the second most beautiful thing he's ever seen. The first most beautiful, of course, is still at airbending training what's-his-name. Tenzin. He'll have to introduce himself. "Hello, how are you doing, I'd like to take the Avatar on a date. You know I'm trustworthy, Maester Tenzin. Don't you trust this face?" He nods to himself, smiling. "Though maybe I shouldn't say _date_. I know. The Avatar needs to go an extra practice session for the tourney. Yeah. That sounds better. I like that better."

"What do you like better?"

Playing it cool, he spins around on his heel; she strides towards him, dressed in an unflattering airbending outfit. Maybe that's why the Air Nomads are supposed to be monks—everyone looks ugly in that uniform. Praying a blush won't betray him, he lifts a hand in greeting and tries to say something, but he can't even remember his own name.

"The fact that you seem in a better mood today," he responds. "Not thinking about Mako?"

She puts her hands on her hips. The one good thing about the outfit is that it gives him a better view of her lower body, usually covered by her skirt, and he decides he likes what he sees. "Maybe _that girl_'ll run him over next time she hits him." He senses the barely supressed hurt in her voice. "Hey, get away from that satomobile. It's mine."

"Yours? Why's it undriven?" Tapping two fingers against the steering wheel, he waggles his eyebrows. "This baby—that's how I _bol_. Get it?"

A smirk. Rolling up her sleeves, she leans over the satomobile to remove the bright red ribbon. "Do you know how to drive?"

He brings his hands together and shakes his head. "Do I know how to drive? Do I _know_ how to _drive_? I'm the very best, like no one ever was, Korra." Motioning at the wheel, he spins it around. "Turn right to go right, left to go left, pedal to the metal, the usual."

She laughs. "Okay, okay, you're up. Key's in the driver's seat." Without further ado she slides into the right and motions for him to join her.

He swallows. This is his chance to impress her.

If he doesn't kill the both of them first.


	5. Drive

A/N: This is the sequel to yesterday's chapter. If you're a straight male and have ever been in a car on a long and bumpy road with a full-breasted female . . . then you know of Bolin's plight. You'll have to excuse him; he's only human.

Something similar to this almost happened to me once. I nearly drove a car off of a cliff. I'm special, amn't I?

Does anypony still drive manual around here?

* * *

His hands, usually as sturdy as the earth he bends, are shaking as though an earthquake were ripping up the terra firma beneath his feet. Instead it's the roar of the satomobile engine sending vibrations up his legs, turning them to gelatine, his breath likewise as rapid. She reclines on the seat next to his, one arm draped casually over the door, the other lingering near his shoulder, electrifying him every time it brushes past. "Are you going to go?" she asks, trying to sound bored, but he knows her well enough to hear the excitement poking its head through the chinks in her armour.

"Right, right, just getting ready." Gingerly, he shifts it to first gear and presses down on the gas; steadily, the satomobile lurches forward, tires scraping against the terrace. Recalling his lessons in driving, mostly on stolen wares, he changes to second gear, then third. Once he's certain he has control, he allows himself a glance at her: Her hair whips behind her, her lips parted in a smile, her fingers curled around the edges of her seat in her panic-pleasure.

"This is amazing!" She looks at him, her sky-blue eyes wide from a combination of joy and fear. The best. "_You_ are amazing!"

His cheeks flush. She doesn't seem to notice. "Better than airbending?"

"This is _wind_bending!" Bravely she throws her arms up, the motion catching his eye. They move onto a patch of slightly uneven ground, which makes her breasts bounce lightly up and down with each movement. He tries to concentrate on the driving, on keeping the satomobile as far away from, well, anything, really, as possible, on keeping their speed in check, but . . . her _breasts_ . . .

Suddenly the vehicle hits something, and she screams as they flies through the air, the engine whining, the waters surrounding Air Temple Island approaching them swiftly. Thrown back in his seat, he scrambles to do _something_ before the blood pounding through his veins become blood splattered on the rocks. Fortunately the satomobile chokes and dies, jerking to a halt at the edge, one tire spinning.

Neither of them says a word.

He clears his throat. "Kor—I hope I didn't—uh—that was—"

"_Totally wicked_." She grabs him by the collar and stares right up at him; he raises an eyebrow.

"Oh. Yeah?" He brushes his shirt with a hand as if shining it. "Yeah, that's totally what I meant to do. Yep."

He could kiss her right now. With her jet black pupils enlarged, her flyaway hair sticking to her face, her heartbeat loud enough for him to hear—or is that his?—he could kiss her, and she wouldn't refuse, and that would be that.

But he doesn't.

And the moment passes.

"So, you think you can teach me a thing or two on driving?" she asks, climbing out of the carriage to help pull it away from the cliff.

He closes his eyes. "Just say the word."


	6. Ice

A/N: I've stagnated on a Monday-through-Friday schedule. Oh well.

Watching 105 hurt my soul significantly. I would go gay for Bolin, and seeing him this broken . . . argh. [shakes head]

Good thing it included enough fanon fodder for a year's worth of Borra.

And yes, vanishéd is pronounced as three syllables.

[hands out Bolin cupcakes to readers]

* * *

The wind caresses his cheek, a promise of her caress in the moments to come. It's snowing gently, and in the golden light of the tower each flake is a spark of fire. Admiring the view, he pauses to glance out at the street, the satomobiles below seeming more like colourful boxes dusted with white than vehicles. Boxes of chocolate. Yes, chocolate. He wonders briefly if he should have gotten her some chocolate as well, but the bouquet of flowers, violet as the clouds of the painted sunset, should be enough to show her how he feels, the way his heartstrings burst into a symphony of love every time he sees her, his heart thrumming in his chest, trying very hard to break his ribs and lungs and whatever might be sitting there. He doesn't know much of anything except that the smell of the violets reminds him of the scent of her hair in a strange, roundabout way, and that she is waiting for him now. Spirits high, he half-skips, half-floats towards her, lighter than air, brighter than the sun, and happier than he can ever imagine being in his life.

He rounds the corner, his hands sweaty around the bouquet, buttermoths fluttering in his stomach, and rushes towards her, his grin reaching his eyes—

And there is she, wild in her beauty, the snowflakes swirling around her, leaning forward. He trails her legs, her hips, the curve of her spine, her neck, her cheekbones, her lips . . .

Her lips on Mako's, his lips on hers, their lips on each other's, kissing. His girl, kissing his brother. His brother, kissing his girl.

He feels a curious emptiness within him as he watches them blankly as a shadow in a mirror, the once-welcome wind now little more than a cruel mockery, touching his cheek as she will never do. The blood in his veins freezes as if she herself had icebent, and the ground, formally his greatest ally, gives way.

She and his brother break away even as he breaks away from reality, his heart breaking away, his spirit breaking away; they turn to look at him, eyes widened, breaths caught, upset, hurt, confused.

He doesn't remember the tears flowing down his face but for the frigid chill of the wind freezing his heart until it is brittle enough to snap in two, the shards crackling beneath his feet as he turns about, the cry of a wounded animal escaping from his throat, any concerns of shame vanishéd by the betrayal. There _is_ no one to hear him weep, for he is one alone person where before were two. The bouquet of violets slips through his fingers, easily as she did, easily as waters through the cracks in the earth.

His vision clouds with steam. His nightmare is coming true. _Her_. And _Mako_. Violets gone, forgotten, lost.

He stumbles, the traitorous ground reaching up to meet him, dust mingling with his tears, the snowflakes melting in his hair.


	7. Break

A/N: Korra, Korra, Korra, why so indecisive? I understand. One person likes you, but you like another, so you friendzone the first and become friendzoned by the second. It makes perfect sense, yet it breaks heart._  
_

For this chapter I purposefully included several parallels to the last, since they take place at about the same time. Does anyone else wonder if it were a DrunkOnMilk kind of situation or if there was alcohol in his bloodstream [or blood in his alcoholstream]?

And for those who aren't familiar with Tv Tropes, DrunkOnMilk refers to a character "getting drunk" off of something non-alcoholic, like milk or maple syrup, most likely due to the placebo effect. Yes, that's rights, kids, you _can _"get drunk" from a non-alcoholic beverage as long as you're convinced it's alcoholic.

If you can catch the song I referenced - which was used in an absolutely soul-tearing AMV - then you have won The Game, my friend.

* * *

The snow swirls gently around her, golden in the firelight. Golden snow. Fire and ice. Her and Mako.

But not _him_.

Mako is already stalking away, his feet making no noise, but his tensed shoulders telling her more than a thousand words. He hates her. _Both_ of them hate her.

They should.

Her eyes sting. Tears? Upset, she spins around, heart racing like a sun-maddened ostrich horse, her breath freezing in the cold. If she raises her hand, she can almost cup the fog of her warmth before it disperses as though it were never there.

She didn't see how serious he was. Never saw. Thought it was a whim, a friends' thing, until she watched him suddenly learn how to waterbend from his eyes. Her hands grab the railing as she leans forward over it, staring into the world beyond her little bubble of love and fear and betrayal, and she screams, a noise that rips from her throat and echoes in the emptiness inside her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tries desperately to picture his face, smiling, laughing, unmistakably _him_—but all she can imagine is Mako, amber eyes glittering with unbroken passion just beneath the surface, the taste of his sweat still on her lips.

One is sugar; the other, spice. One will always be there for her, sturdy as earth, a shoulder to cry on and a rock to fall on; the other flits and flutters, never quite saying yes, never quite no, only enough to make her not go, a flame, briefly flaring and then disappearing with a flash, leaving her cold, needy, helpless. But stone cannot warm her. It takes a fire.

Just as it takes a heart of ice to break his.

She doesn't deserve to call herself his friend.

Not now.

Not ever.

Snow lands delicately on her nose. She breathes smoke from her nostrils until it melts. Easy. All it took was one breath.

Her pulse quickens.

All it took was one kiss.

"I'm an _idiot_." She smashes her head on the railing, not caring if it will leave a bruise. "I made Bo _cry_, I _killed_ whatever chances I had with Mako, and now I don't even know what's going to happen. And if Asami finds out—" Another thought enters her head. A frustrated jet of flame streams from her mouth into the night sky. "What if he doesn't show up for the game tomorrow? Am I—am I even still _in_ the Fire Ferrets?"

A flash of violet, seen from half-closed lids, brings her back to reality. It doesn't matter whether the pro-bending match happens or now. What matters is whether he will be okay.

Her fingers close on the bouquet of flowers, vibrant in the white. The scent lingers with her.

"Flowers," she murmurs to herself. "He brought me . . . flowers."

Yet the face that fills her mind isn't his.

It's Mako's.

And she knows, in her heart of hearts, that it will always be.


	8. Found

A/N: A few of my readers requested something more optimistic. Here it is. Enjoy this quiet lull before the storm, mostly because I have final exams today. Hooray!

The fanon: What in the _world _is Bolin doing? How did he even get on Air Temple Island? Aah, you'll see soon enough, I assure you. Fortunately someone intervenes before stalker alert alarms can go off; it is just me, or would Jinora have a crush on Bolin, especially since that seems to be something common in the fandom?

And of course this will have a follow-up.

[slaps Bo] I can't believe you're using Jinora to get information about Korra. [shakes head]

* * *

Footsteps.

He prays they're hers. They've _got_ to be.

His gaze is fixed on the door, which slowly creaks open, the sound the merest noise he could imagine. Holding his breath, he stares: The shoe that steps into the doorway is brown—but small. Unbelievably small. Excruciatingly small.

Definitely not her.

Maybe hiding under her bed wasn't the best idea.

His head cracks on the wooden frame as he jerks upwards from surprise, and the tearful voice of a mouse robin sings out, "Who's there? Korra? I wanted to talk to you." Fearfully, he says nothing, hoping that whoever it is won't notice him, and he crawls backwards as speedily as he dare. Another shoe appears, and the bottom portions of those legs so skinny they're more akin to newly-leafed twigs in the high branches of spring bend as the stranger crouches. "Korra? Who are you?" He inspires sharply, then wishes the ground could open up and swallow him in an instant for his stupidity. A pair of liquid café eyes greets him, the soft features of one of those air acolytes—a little girl perhaps ten years old, if that—staring back at him. "Ooh! Hello there. Can I ask your name?"

"Uh . . . hey." He holds her gaze steadily, unsure of what to do; she continues to look at him, smiling brightly, as though expecting something from him. Dust prickles his nose: He sneezes vigorously, the backlash smashing his head on the frame again. The girl giggles. Suddenly he understands that the acolyte wants his name. "I'm Bolin." He considers what to give her as a pseudonym, since he doesn't want to throw about his true name. Seconds later he realises he's a complete and utter idiot.

"Hello Bolin." The mouse robin cocks her head. "What are you doing here?"

Flustered, he squeezes himself out from under the bed, coughing and brushing the dust off. "So, er, you said you were looking for Korra, right?" He grins at the girl and nudges her with his elbow. She falls over, laughing.

"Are you her boyfriend? I thought he was a firebender." He winces but pretends not to have heard. Abruptly her eyes light up. "Wait! You're that earthbender she was telling me about!" One eyebrow arches. "She didn't tell you were so _handsome_."

"She talks about me?" He shakes his head, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. "Do you know where she is?"

The mouse robin nods. "She's practicing her airbending with Daddy."

"Daddy?" Blink. "You mean you're one of _Tenzin_'s?" For a moment he almost wants to run away, but instead he scoots towards her—the girl seems pleased. "What's your name?"

"Jinora." Her cheeks flush.

He bobs his head. "So, _Jinora_, mind doing me a favour and telling me what Korra says about me? Your pal Bo's ready to listen."

Surprisingly, the mouse robin claps her hands excitedly and leans towards him, face nearly glowing. "I'll tell you. Where to begin?"

He smirks. Jackpot.


	9. Sigh

A/N: This is a follow-up to yesterday's chapter. Owl Bears are a nod to my old DnD days. As for the content, this is merely an optimistic fluff lull while I a) wait for more material from the show and b) prepare one for what is to come.

Jinora is the sweetest. A tip of the hat to the original chapter that started it all with the massage. Korra is amazingly trusting. Mako should take some massages lessons from Chel.

Side note: My apologies if I mistake some of the bed vocabulary, i.e. coverlets; English is not my first language [would that be l_aang_uage?].

* * *

Sighing contently, a noise not often found in her vicinity, she notes how the muscles in her arms and thighs burn from the airbending exercises that were supposed to increase her flexibility for advanced manoeuvres. At the moment, she doesn't care very much about airbending manoeuvres as she does about piling onto her bed, turning on her radio, and tuning into tonight's pro-bending match, the MikoCraft Hog Monkeys versus the Owl Bears, both of them promising material for next year's tournament. Next year. She pauses for a moment, her hand poised over her door, staring vaguely at the whorls in the wood, and she relishes the thought of_ next year's tournament_. An entire year in which to explore Republic City, improve on her training, and spend time with the fabulous bending brothers.

Especially Mako.

Sighing contently, she opens her bedroom door, expecting to see her bedspread as she left it; on the contrary, sitting on the edge of her bed and playing some sort of hand-clapping game are Jinora and the _other_ fabulous bending brother.

"Korra!" He stops as she walks in, his innocent gaze causing her to have to stifle a laugh that nearly escapes, and Jinora accidentally slaps him on the arm when he fails to raise his hand properly. "She and I were playing a game." Unsure, he glances at the airbender. "To pass the time."

"Her name's Jinora." She isn't sure what to make of the scene.

He dips his head. "I knew that. Anyway, Korra, nice digs you got here." Running a hand over the coverlets, he makes a show of admiring the few decorations she's put up. "They really speak of _you_."

She snorts. "Sit down before you hurt yourself thinking, Bo. I don't like empty compliments."

"They're not empty." Frown. "Hey, Jinora, would you mind getting us some—" She can see the quick thoughts whirring through his mind. "—food? I'm _starving_."

Jinora giggles and leaps up, disappearing through the doorway. "No worries, handsome earthbender. I'll be back soon!" Once the airbender's gone, she crosses her arms and glares pointedly at him; he smiles sheepishly.

"What are you doing here? How long have you been?" She blinks. "Does _Tenzin_ know you're here?"

He shakes his head. "I came over here to talk to you, since Mako's on another 'date' thing with Asami. I figured you'd be pleasantly surprised."

"I'm surprised you can whip up a phrase like 'pleasantly surprised'." Resigned, swallowing the disappointment about Mako, she allows herself to fall on the bed with a satisfying plop, leaning against him. "But if you're going to sit around here you might as well give me one of your magic massages."

She feels his fingers find their usual place on her shoulders, and she reaches out with a foot to flick the radio on. It bursts into existence in the middle of the match.

Sighing contently, she settles into his rhythm, his warmth and comfort filling her, the one thing Mako will never have.


	10. Gold

A/N: Oh, Bo, you break my heart. I'm not sure if Mako deserves a slap for being a brother betrayer or an award for best brother in the world.

To be clear, this takes place _after_ Mako drags a semiconscious Bo - which means "precious", if Google is to be trusted - to his house and is attempting to figure out what Bolin _did_ last night while dealing with the after-effects of Bolin's "crying like a schoolgirl" moment and subsequent potential drunkenness. I adore the brother-brother dynamic and wanted to exploit it. In this meantime, Korra is bumbling around on Air Temple Island while attempting to practice airbending, being unable to do so [see: depression], and feeling as depressed as GLaDOS upon the death of another subject. Wait, that's a horrible analogy - the latter would be GLaD.

[ba dum tsh]

Protip: Ever gotten drunk? Drink hot tea and cold water alternatively. Yes, the rapid transition between hot and cold will hurt. It'll also make the hangover go away significantly more quickly. See what you learn from reading random things off of FFN? Education, my dears, educación! And no, I'm not insinuating that Bo actually got drunk; Mako isn't taking chances.

About three seconds ago I realised I'm posting this from a library computer at 2:02 when I should be in class and working on a presentation on dingo conservation of marsupials. Meh. Bolin and the rest of the Krew are so much more important. But at least I'm eating rice, which is more than I can say for Bo, throwing his food around like a child. [pats his duck-butt hair]

The second rule of the bro code: Don't hate a brother/don't be hatin' on a bro.

* * *

"I _love_ her."

He shoves a mouthful of rice into his mouth, chewing furiously and swallowing as rapidly as he can, his stomach churning, his head pounding.

"I _hate_ her."

Another one.

"I _love_ her."

A third.

"No, I _hate_ her."

His brother is sitting across from him, watching him wolf down rice as if there's no tomorrow. And potentially there isn't, not for him, not the way he feels, drowned and burned and battered and buried six feet under in a coffin stamped with the word _Korra_.

"And I hate you, too," he bursts out, flinging the chopsticks at his brother, who doesn't move as they hit him and clatter down to the floor.

Mako sighs. "Bo, don't break the second rule of the bro code."

Immediately he senses the wetness of tears brimming at his eyes. "I'm sorry bro. I don't hate you. I love you. Like _her_. But I _hate_ her." Now devoid of utensils, he scoops up more rice with a hand and puts it against his mouth so his brother can't see his mouth, more a squiggle than a line. "Just shut up. First Asami, then Korra. Am I that ugly? Unlucky?"

Mako says nothing, only looks at him with amber gaze.

"You don't know anything about anything," he slurs; the room is slipping around him, and he wishes it would stop tilting under his feet. "You don't even know what you don't know. You just don't know anything. Don't know. Leave some ladies for the rest of us."

His brother winces. "Bo . . . please don't. I never asked for Korra to like me."

"But _you_ like _her_. You kissed her back!"

"How much did you drink last night?" Mako asks.

He doesn't answer the question. "I love and hate her. I can't even—" Smashing his fist into the table, he watches the bowl of rice fly into the wall, spilling the white grains over the floor like sand in an hourglass, the hourglass of his happiness. "—drink water without thinking about her."

"Bo . . ." His brother leaves the rice and begins to make tea.

"And I didn't drink anything," he adds testily. "I. Don't. Drink."

Putting a hand on his shoulder, Mako sets a cup of steaming tea and a glass of icy water, the heat removed with firebending, on the table. "Drink those, alternating from hot to cold and back again. You'll feel better. Trust me." He has half a mind to knock both beverages over; the other half of his mind has stuck _the kiss_ on infinite loop. His motions sluggish, he nearly drops the cup, and Mako responds by grabbing it and bringing it to his lips. "Here. Drink."

He almost doesn't.

But then he looks up and sees the molten gold churning in his brother's eyes, full of nothing but concern and tenderness and love.

He drinks, though it burns, and mumbles around the rim, not knowing to whom he speaks

"I love you."


	11. Tie

A/N: This takes place during 106, which was the single most amazing half-hour I have ever spent in my entire life. Bryke knows how to keep fans in line.

It started completely different and ended up as it did. Hence the title, _Tie_.

I'm pleased with it. The first chapter drawing directly from the show, but in a completely differing way than was represented therein.

* * *

He's afraid.

He knows he shouldn't be, but he is.

He's afraid for the stakes. Of the bending brothers' future. Of the house on the hill where they grew up—the house to which they promised each other they would return after winning the pot.

_After_.

He's afraid for Mako. Of his brother's dreams resting on one pro-bending match. Of nightmares destroying the hopes planned for after winning the pot.

_After_.

He's afraid for her. Of Tahno's wrath. Of what could happen to his dazzling vision of her and him after winning the pot.

_After_.

Always _after_. Assuming victory. Arrogant with hubris.

But it's all in the air now.

Usually, Mako would be the one standing up there, fire rushing from fists, his mouth a thin line as his opponent rushes at him.

Or him. He could be up there, like the other day, grappling, throwing, _winning winning winning_.

But no. It's her. And Tahno.

The ref is stepping back, head bowed. Barely holding back the urge to smash the ref over the side of the field for _sucking _more than thought possible, he bites his lip.

She takes a stance. His gaze, and the gaze of everyone in the stands, is on her. She's their last hope. "Korra, you can do this," he whispers under his breath, his hands involuntarily curling into fists, his heartbeat louder than the roar of the spectators. "You've got to. Because if you don't . . ."

"Come on, little girl." Tahno's sneer fills him with rage. He wants to punch the man in the sleazy face. "Give me your best shot."

She smiles, and he feels it seconds before it happens: A shot of waterbending from her fist—Tahno ducking—a spurt of liquid from her other hand—knocking the helmet off—hair ruined, face a mess—the bell ringing, though at first he thinks it's his heartbeat gone into overdrive—and then her words—

"Hmph. _Chump_."

The announcer strikes a dramatic pose. "Round two goes to the _Fire Ferrets_!"

For that one moment, the entire world is frozen, taken up by her victory, the radiant light causing her skin to almost glow. Memorising the image, he promises to never let it go, seeing her in her truest form: Dripping with sweat, hair sticking to her face, eyes brighter than stars, a soft smile on her lips mixed with a smirk, fresh from the fight and larger than life.

Then the moment breaks.

He sees her float down from the raised platform. Mako's the first to react, offering her a high-five. "Nice one." She grins, laughs, looks at him.

"That's the stuff," he blurts, words falling out of his mouth in his amazement. His thoughts whir: _We won round two. We _won_ round two!_ "You're my _heeeeero_!"

His brother inhales. "We might actually win this thing."

"Might?" Adamantly he shakes his head, glaring at Mako. "This girl is _magic._ We _will_ win."

She blushes. "I don't—"

He grasps her arm. "You do."


	12. Fear

A/N: So I'm heading off to one of the largest exams in my life, but I've got Bo with me, and I'm not scared at all.

Korra, thought, might be.

Bolin needs to stop turning her radio off, although the announcer was bad anyway in this case.

Note: Not proofed as usual; proofing will occur when I return.

Buena suerte a mi.

* * *

"Those rookie Ferrets are giving it their all, but nothing can stop the Wolfbats from winning for the fourth year in a row. Neither side can advance. Ding goes the bell, folks, and it's a tie." She flicks the radio knob louder, listening to the replay of the pro-bending match from the night before broadcast across most of the major stations, though this particular announcer isn't one she likes. Unfortunately, Shiro Shinobi's isn't available anywhere, courtesy of the remnants of the pro-benders refusing to allow the word of corrupted referees to spread. "Who picks? The Ferrets. The _Avatar_ has decided to go toe-to-toe with the most powerful bender in the city, Tahno. _Hoowwwwrrrrroooh!_ It's over in seconds! Unbelievable! The Avatar has knocked him off with one fluid movement. Is the ref going to call? No, the Fire Ferrets have bested—"

It silences itself. She looks up, surprised, her fingers poised over the dial, her gaze scanning for a member of the Order come to ask her if she wishes anything, or even for Tenzin's familiar face, a mask of concern, his hand touching her shoulder as the airbending master inquires why she hasn't left her room in days.

Neither.

Him.

"Hey Kor."

She pretends to smile as he waltzes up to her, a baked good of some kind in his possession, nodding at the radio. "Pretty lame announcer, right? I loved Shiro's puns. But I guess everyone wanted to comment on the last pro-bending match." He drops the—lemon cake?—in her lap and glances at her. "Ever." She refuses to meet his gaze, preferring to busily make a show of opening the wrapping on the slice of cake instead. "But at least you're okay. If it'd been me, I would have—"

"Stop." Her timbre is unused from the time spent in her room, but the last thing she needs right now is him, and his smile that brightens the room, and his jokes and japes that make her chuckle, and his laughter that puts the spice into it all. "Republic City is at _war_." Her voice cracks around the word. "Pro-bending season is _over_. Pro-_bending_ is over. The Fire Ferrets are over." Imagining his hand on her collarbone isn't real, she hunches over the radio, fiddling with the now-useless knobs. "Why are you still here? I'm not on your team; I've already broken your heart; and I got you in trouble with the Equalists _twice_."

His palm is warm on her shoulder. "Because," he remarks mildly while he spins her about, forcing her to face his twinkling emerald eyes, "I care about you, girlfriend or no." His smile is one she needed. "I care about _Korra_." He winks. "Know where I could find her?"

Not giving a monkeyfeather to anyone who sees, she throws her arms around him, embracing him and his warmth and his smile and his jokes and his laughter. "I'm sorry. I'm just scared."

His breath warms her neck. "I'm not. I'm with you."


	13. Worth

A/N: I'm going to tack on the _excellence _of my exam yesterday onto this fanon and my readers. Rock on!

This, rather accidentally, is a follow-up to yesterday's. Unfortunately, when Bolin attempts to make Korra feel better with some good-natured jokes, it doesn't work off so well, and his "funny" arrogance reads more _jerk _than _nice guy_.

Hey, Korra? Please feel free to leave your room. Planning on how to defeat Amon won't help if you don't do something. Depression never helps. Neither does liquor. Trust me on that.

* * *

"Listen, I know you're with Mako." He pauses, touching the knob of the radio with a hand, turning it up to eleven and back down to zero. She watches his movement, unsure of what to say but for some reason missing the feeling of his arms warm around her. For that moment she was safe, protected, comforted, but she _is_ the Avatar and must do the protecting, not the other way around. Never the other way around. "Or want Mako at least. I don't know about Asami. After your—" Though a _k_ escapes his mouth, the _ss_ is left unsaid. "—he hasn't been that caring about her."

Staring blankly at him, she briefly remembers her train of thoughts before he came in—and how _did_ he get in?—that mostly spiralled around the impending war in Republic City, the benders being kidnapped off of the streets every night, and how awful the announcer of the match was, in doing so realising that _the firebender_ has not crossed her mind. Much. "I don't think that's the important thing right now," she answers slowly, tasting the words herself. "I have to focus on the war with the Equalists. That war."

"Right." He grins ssheepishly. "That war. I know." Knob to eleven and back.

"Hey, if you want to listen to it, feel free." Already the memory of his hug is fading, replaced with the reality. Her heart sunk into her stomach days ago, and clearly it isn't rising up again.

With a sad smile, he catches her wrist; she wants to slap his face for acting so nonchalant in the middle of a battlefield. "I was wondering if you wanted to hit town with me. Not _town _town. A walk in the park. Clear the mind." Her eyes narrow, her anger boiling over when he points his thumb at the door. "What's sitting in a dismal room's going to do to help the city when you could be with someone as gorgeous as me?" He coughs. "That was supposed to be funny. Not jerky."

She nearly snorts smoke from her nostrils. Crossing her arms, she pushes him away, smirking as he falls onto his rear. "I don't want this. Not from you, not now, not today. The tournament's over anyway. You don't need me. Mako certainly doesn't." The thought of fresh air and a night on the town appeals to her, but she feels required to sit here and think of a plan to take down Amon. Even Tahno would welcome at this point; at least he could tell her more about bending loss.

"We do. _I_ do." She senses his soft green eyes watching her, his gaze steading on her back.

Her tone is cracked. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't."

"No!" He shakes her shoulder roughly, but she doesn't turn around. "Don't _you_ matter? Don't _I_ matter?"

"I'm the Avatar." She forces herself to say it. "I _don't _matter. My people do."

The silence cloaks them down.


	14. Up

A/N: This takes place during 106 and covers what Mako and Bolin decided do after Korra's "I'm going after Amon!" Namely, it covers Bo's reaction. And to be fair, I think I would like to kick ass at Korra's side.

Warrants a follow-up. Eventually.

* * *

He can't help but stare, his breath taken away, his heart faster than even an eel hound on drugs, steroids, and spirit know what else, as she dashes off of the edge onto a glaze of ice, her expression one of extreme concentration, concern, and intent on revenge.

"Kor!" he tries to say, but the words are stuck in his throat. "You don't have to."

The vortex of water rises above the pro-bending arena. It swirls about her, guiding her up, forward, forever towards the man who almost took his bending away; he can yet remember the fear, the knot in his gut, the alternations of ice and fire in his veins when he stood on that stage and nearly wet his pants.

No, not the _man_ who almost took his bending away.

Not a man.

A monster.

_Amon_.

"She doesn't have to." His blood roars in his ears. "I have to go after her!"

A firm pressure on his arm. "You can't." His brother, sounding as if from far away, from a place beyond the mortal realm, from the Spirit World. Which is where _she_ will undoubtedly end up if something isn't done. "Bo, you know what we should do? Go help the people trying to escape. Asami." There's a break in Mako's words, one that causes him to turn around and look in confusion at his brother, whose amber eyes cloud with grief. "What if something happened to Asami?"

"You go check on Asami!" He turns around and gasps as the tornado of water surrounding her shudders and starts to fade. "_Korra!_" Something occurs. A shape flits through the air and somehow catches her, and she—airbends?—herself up through the ceiling. Mako's grip tightens on his shoulder, but he shakes his brother off. "Did you see that? She _airbent._ Do you know what that means?"

"It means," Mako responds tightly, "that you and I are getting out of here. You _can't_ go up on that roof. Do you hear me?"

His gaze scans the glass ceiling of the arena, catching the shadows of miniscule forms racing about. Flame blooms in what seem to be firecrackers, though he knows instinctively that she is fighting for her life. The hairs on the back of his neck stand erect from the electrified atmosphere. "I hear you, bro." His lips form the words; his heart doesn't. "But I don't _listen_." With that, he gently strokes Pabu's back to ensure the fire ferret is holding on to his shirt and leaps from the platform onto the patch of ice, his plan to earthbend a few of the discs over and use them to levitate himself, or something like that, to her.

To save her.

Or at least to kick some ass by her side.

Except for his brother's fingers closing down the collar of his uniform, jerking him back. He glares at Mako angrily, wanting to say something.

But the worry in the golden eyes stops him.

Then he hears the explosion.


	15. War

A/N: A follow-up to yesterday, and a reference to the comics. Это любовь война.

The last line is an aside in that Korra and Mako don't necessarily hear it.

Bolin and Master Chief - I mean, Chief Bei Fong - have a history. Of course.

* * *

Shards of glass fly through the air, embedding themselves into the ground. He feels himself hit the floor, his brother's body a heavy weight pressing him into the rough metal surface, and Pabu squeals in his shirt, a furry missile wriggling to be set free. "What was that?" he cries, clouds of dust burning his eyes, nose, and throat, his ears ringing from the noise. "What's going on?"

"Shut _up_." Something in Mako's voice makes him wait for a moment prior to shaking his brother off and standing abruptly, the disorientation nearly knocking him down over again. "Bo, I think that's Korra."

"_Where_?" He spins around, looking for her, and Pabu squeaks, pulling on his ear. Following the fire ferret's direction, he makes out her form standing next to Lin—ooh, last time he talked to the chief of police, it was in prison for "borrowing" a satomobile, an experience he doesn't want to repeat—with the airbending master, Tenzin, walking up close to her. "Thanks buddy."

Mako squeezes his shoulder. "I told you she was going to be all right."

"You didn't say anything," he grumbles. "But thanks for not letting me go after her. It looks like she's okay. I would have been a liability." Before Mako can say anything else, he takes a stance. His brother tagging behind him, he earthbends the both of them up onto the arena and, from there, into the stands. Mako's first to embrace her.

"I'm so glad you're okay," his brother tells her, stealing _his_ line. Not that it matters.

She's safe. What more could he want?

His arms reach out to encircle the two people closest to him in the entire world, his brother and his love, though he doesn't realise what he is doing until after he's hugged her and shouted, "Me too!" She glances at him with those bright blue eyes, one like the sea, the other like the sky, and each the line of the horizon where the two melt and merge together, or the darkness of the water where ocean and land converge, washing over the other, neither able to gain an advantage save for the steady wearing away until all are one.

Words. From the corner of his hearing, he senses them drop: "Republic City is at war." She tilts her head, the vulnerable flesh of her throat visible as she cranes to stare at the burning hole razed into the arena's ceiling.

Once beautiful, curve, clear as their relationship was, to him.

Now cracked, cloud, its future uncertain.

But still rising above them in an arc, ending somewhere beyond his vision.

His fingers rest on her collarbone, remembering the day he massaged he and she told him that she wanted a guy _like you_.

He doesn't exist, she insisted.

His heart gives out a painful thump, reminding him that it is there, no matter how pained and fractured it may be.

"Republic City is a battlefield," he whispers, tasting the words. "So is love."


	16. Glass

A/N: Hey there guys. It's been forever, but the newest episode sparked a need to write. That, and aloneintoronto. You should read her stuff; it's amazing.

Anyway, this is part one of two, with two coming tomorrow. Watching the episode, I realised that Bolin still does love her, but at the moment she needs a friend, and he understands that and will be that for her. I'm still aangry and aangsty that he's being sidelined. I wasn't planning on writing any more, but then I saw a comic someone had drawn that - in my humble opinion - took Bolin out of character and didn't make sense. It rather [censored]ed up my view of him; therefore I had to write something to compensate.

This and its sequel will hopefully be the only instance of straight-up fanfiction in _A Guy Like You_. The rest are fanon [that is, something that could have happened within the canon in some way or another]. However, I couldn't get this scene out of my mind, so what better way to kick off the rebirth of my favourite fanon than to [drumroll] make something awesome up.

Keep calm, my friends, and ship Borra.

I will go down with this ship.

* * *

The metal ripples under Beifong's fingers, the door opening with a creak that slams into her eardrums and shatters her thought process.

"_Bolin!_" she screams, the sharp edge cutting into her palm where she grabs it and rips it from the wall, tossing it behind her, not caring who it hits, mind focused on finding the last missing member of her _nakama_, the final friend—more like family—she has left to save.

A part of her fears what she may find.

The rest of her shoves the fear into a dark corner of her spirit and enters.

Inside the cell there is nothing but shadow, darkness pooling at her feet, the fire in her palm choked by the endless black. Motion. A moan. A whisper.

"Dad?"

The word breaks her heart, turns it into glass and throws it against the floor made of rock. Her eyes widen; if it was made of stone, why hasn't he earthbent himself out of it yet? Unless—

"Korra?"

Her hands find him before she does, pulling his broken form up, the thinness of his arms, previously thick with muscle, frightening her somehow more than even Tarrlok's bloodbending. His fingers curl weakly about her wrists as though straining for support, his breathing like that of a dying man. But now everything is going to be okay, she tells herself, until she sees his face.

The full cheeks and rounded nose, the lightning-bolt curl of hair and flying eyebrows, the sheepish grin perpetually stuck on his mouth and the shining joy in his emerald eyes . . .

_Gone_.

Blue and black blossom up from his neck and cover most of his face like a horrible scar, forehead glistening with what she hopes is water, his uncut hair hiding the worst of the hollowed cheeks and cracked lips. But the worst lies in his eyes, the green in them dulled to almost grey-brown, the colour of the abandoned city, buildings destroyed, corpses littering the streets.

"Korra."

His voice, drained of any emotion whatsoever, flat and dead as a never-ending sea of smoke and glass.

"Korra."

She hugs him tightly, her arms shaking with the strain of not snapping his brittle body. His palm pushes feebly against her, and she pulls away to listen. With a touch gentler than silk, he brushes her cheek, the tip of his thumb coming away wet.

"Who hurt you?" he murmurs faintly. She can sense his legs quivering as he tries to keep himself standing. "You're bleeding."

Her throat constricts. "Bolin, what happened to you? Did they torture you?" Her nails dig into his skin. "_Did they take away your bending?_"

"Worse." The corners of his lips curve slightly, fissures forming before her eyes, scarlet droplets trickling from the edges. "They said you were d-dead." He throws himself onto her, embracing her, his entire form shivering with the effort. "But you're here now. And that's all I wanted." Hot wets wet the back of her neck. "That's all I wanted."


	17. Crane

A/N: Part two of the two-parter. Picturing this scene in my mind almost made me want to cry. Writing it . . . if I wasn't in a compromising situation at the time, I likely would have.

I've been in the thick of depression before. It's not a very fun place, and the last thing I suggest is putting all of your hopes into one basket.

I would like to thank my readers for sticking with me all this time, and I promise I will continue to update daily!

Tomorrow's chapter won't be _this_ heart-breaking, because my poor old heart will give out.

Someday I'll write Bolin in jail, folding the paper cranes.

Guys, guys, guys, you're all being silly. Bolin didn't cut himself. I was referring to the fact that the police force - under Tarrlok's instructions - hurt him, but he didn't fight, and he told himself that he was taking Korra's pain anyway. Spirits, Bolin wouldn't hurt himself; he's not that kind of person. I don't even think Zuko, aka Aangst McAangsty-Scar, would hurt himself, so why the hell would Bolin? Right, he wouldn't. Sorry for any confuzzlation.

I'm sorry to those of you who thought this was overdone. That's why I labelled it 'fanfiction' instead of 'fanon'. [slinks away]

* * *

"They told me Tarrlok had killed you, hidden away somewhere only the spirits knew where. Things fell apart. I fell apart. My . . . my entire world fell apart." The stubble dotting his chin tells her how long he has been in here, unable to hold himself up. "I didn't know why there was a point to . . . to living anymore. I tried to hurt myself. On the bars. So they moved me in here."

She frowns. "Bo, look at yourself. You're a mess. And your arms." Her thumb runs over a rough, raised area of skin. "Are those scars?"

"I'm sorry. Everything was so dark, so cold." He squeezes her tightly. "I thought that maybe I could take some of your pain away. Maybe, if I felt enough, I could save you from what Tarrlok was doing." A sudden coughing fit splatters blood to the dusty floor, his cracked lips dribbling with red. "A-and it worked, see? I was right."

"Bolin, you can't do this to yourself." Desperate to find some trace of the old him she knew, she searches for whatever she can. "Why didn't you bend yourself out? Why didn't you escape?"

He shrugs, a difficult motion that audibly cracks a bone in his right shoulder, his wince one she can't help but notice. "There was no escape. Not without you. And they were n-nice to me here." His heel connects with the ground, a stone panel underneath unfolding, revealing a swarm of small shapes beneath. "They gave me paper when I asked."

"Paper?" It is her turn to be confused, until he withdraws a handful of paper fox cranes, all made from the same white stock.

"They say that if you fold a thousand of these, you get a wish." With effort, he crouches next to the panel, his legs shaking. "I finished the last one two days ago. And when that happened I had nothing to do, nothing to do but die." She drowns in the sorrow filling his dull green eyes. "All I could think of was you."

Holding back stinging tears, she crouches next to him and touches his hand, realising for the first time how bloody and broken his nails are, the ends ripped off as though scrabbling through stone. "What about Mako?"

"Mako will always be there," he answers simply. "You won't."

She can barely hear him over the blood roaring in her ears. "Bolin, you can't live your entire life as if it revolves around me!"

"But it d-does." He returns the paper fox cranes to the hiding spot and lurches to his feet, quivering and weak. "Who hurt you, Korra? Was it Tarrlok?"

"The metalbending police," she responds quietly.

Into her palm he presses the thousandth crane, its wings crumpling as her fingers curl over it. "Remember that cut you gave me with that earthbending disc?" She nods. He strokes it with his forefinger, his touch something even lighter than air. "You have one now, too."


	18. Thought

A/N: This takes place directly after Bolin is arrested in "When Extremes Meet". Hopeless as the environment is, our little earthbender friend is trying to remain optimistic, but his thoughts can't help but shift towards Korra. It's a teeny break from the last two depressing chapters, and tomorrow's will hopefully be another break like that, before I plunge back into the sad and the grit.

The reference to Ozai eating sugar is from the 'Hitler Ate Sugar' Tv Tropes page.

Oh, and I'd like to recommend something for all of you. It's so much better than my sucky-ass writing, and it really made want to hug Bolin. Besides, it inspired a one-shot of my own. Go read this and make the author famous: fanfiction[.]net/s/8153000/1/Gluttony

And, my faithful readers? I know there are many of you, what with nearly two thousand hits on the story yesterday. I'd like to improve this story and experience for everyone - I'm new at this writing this, so suggestions or criticism alike would be very helpful. So, please, if you have a spare moment or two, would you mind leaving me a note? Not generic. Please don't say, "Oh, this is fine", or, "Keep on going the way it is". I want you to say, "Your grammar is awful. Can't you do anything about it? And Mako's out of character", or, "I see we could see more of Jinora. Also, sometimes your repetitive writing makes me want to vomit", or even, "You know what this story needs? A sharp stick! And Korra and Bolin going to robot-pirate island and fighting cowboys on the moon while Mako and Tenzin dress in drag and do the hula". Any suggestions at all are welcome. I need to improve. [rage rage rage]

Thank for the comments I've already received. Duly noted and catalogued. I promise to improve in the near future.

Side note: The chapters are all drabbles. They're not in chronological order, as I mentioned in the few first few chapters. So . . . don't be confused?

Thanks, all, for reading!

* * *

The police satomobile jerks as it rides over the bumpy patch of ground in the nonbenders' living area. Vaguely he muses on why the city has continued to use Future Industries products if Hiroshi Sato is on the wanted list for being an Equalist, but he supposes that that is akin to one refusing to eat sugar simply because the infamous Phoenix King did as well.

When that train of thought expires, he searches for another one, desperate to escape from the situation at hand, a situation full of grief, worries, and little good at all.

He focuses on the darkness in the tiny space and the metal cuffs chafing his wrists, the edges studded with sharp iron pyramids designed to cut into skin. Unnecessarily harsh, he thinks, but then again since when has Tarrlok danced on rainbows of kindness? Still, these cuffs are new: The other time he was arrested, for 'borrowing' a car, included much more comfortable ones.

His mind shifts to Tarrlok. Every jerk of the satomobile reminds him of how much of a jerk the councilman is, arresting him for doing nothing but help her.

_Her_.

"No. You can't think about that." He wonders what she is doing at the moment, what she is feeling, what she is thinking. "Stop brain. Stop that." Is she thinking about him? About Mako? What? "Brain, you're killing me here. I want you to shut up."

The image of Mako kissing her suddenly sings across his mind, and he does his best to stamp it out, tossing it into the pile of pictures he never wishes to see again. The second he attempts to forget it, of course, it swings back with full force, branded into his mind forever. His lips form the words: "_Brother betrayer._" A foreign fury uncoils in his chest like a deranged dragon, flame spewing from its maw, but he shakes his head, rage an emotion he doesn't like or want to feel, especially not at his brother.

Still the memory burns him. He thought he'd be over her by now. Why isn't he over her? _Why isn't he over her?_

Barely an hour ago, in the new Avatarmobile, when he felt her discomfort and elected to take the front seat instead, he could see Mako and her in the rear-view mirror, smiling warmly at each other in way she's never done for him, in a way that broke his heart as easily as if it were fragile glass, as if Mako had set fire to it and watched it burn, burn as the memory.

"No. You can't think about that," he repeats, his words empty and hollow. "You're over her."

Why did it take being arrested for him to consider this?

"You're over her. You hear that, Bolin?" He jangles the cuffs on his wrist, the metal biting into his flesh, the scent of copper telling him everything he needs to know. "_You. Are. Over. Her._"

But he's not.

And he's never going to be.


	19. Step

A/N: My faithful readers, thank you so much for the comments. I've taken them to heart, and I apologise to any and all for any misgivings on my portrayal of Bolin in earlier chapters, but I have to say that I included a new A/N [does that stand for Author's Notes? Additional Notes? Aangry Nerds?] in one of the chapters that might clarify the issue. Expect to see an improvement as I steadily apply what I've leant. Consider me a novice wordbender, and you know it takes a village to raise a bender. . . . Anyway, thank you all. I appreciate it. And now I have to write a story about robot-pirate island and cowboys on the moon.

During 108, the Krew finds itself on Air Temple Island, and even though that's shattered by the time of the episode, I figured there was time for a touch of ATI time.

What's this? I wrote something _not_ aangsty and depressing? How dare I? Well, Bolin isn't a sad character. He's optimistic, he's charming, and he bounces back. And the subsequent chapter is even more light-hearted. At least ninety-nine percent of it.

This is more of a musing. A fun musing, a musing that stems from a discussion on Korra Mako and Bolin had [a one-shot I'd planned to write earlier but wasn't able to do so. I blame my horoscope], a musing that has inspired another story of me you'll see shortly. You know, I think the airbender kids are kind of Ikki. [ba dum tsh] And yes the motormouth did reference a random animation that appeared out of the blue. Yes. Yes she did. I feel like she can break the fourth wall whenever she wants. What fourth wall?

[sadly] Remember I don't publish on the weekends. [eagerly] But you know what I _do_ do? I watch Korra. Even if Bryke is sidelining Bolin. Watch the new premiere and get the viewer numbers up, up, _up_!

* * *

"And now, a word from our sponsors. Tired of all the badmouthing for Future Industries? Sick of waiting for a _present_ today? Exhausted from having to count your yuans every time you have to change a tire? With the new Cabbage Corp _Gan-Lan_ deluxe model, you can ride in style _without_ sacrificing savings! Buy one in the next week and get a lifetime of tires, guaranteed! Cabbage Corp. Republic City's trusted name in technology for over fifty years."

The smooth jazz returns, filling the atmosphere with its supposedly calming aura. She's meditating cross-legged near the ancient Air Nomad torture device—he means _training course_—and listening to the worst music in existence, her nose wrinkling from displeasure, her muscles tensing and relaxing in irregular contractions, one finger stroking the fur on the hem of her skirt in the opposite direction of the rest.

Muscles. That's a thing he likes about her. She's not all skin and bones like Asami, who's more of a twig than a girl. She has a texture, a toughness, a touch unique to her body, the patterns of roughness unlike anyone else's. It's her version of the airbenders' arrows. Even her breasts aren't simply balloons tacked on to a stick, the way Asami looks sometimes; they're sculpted, attached firmly to her centre, a vital part of her physique and balance instead of merely an add-on or a bonus feature. He'll never understand what Mako sees in Asami beyond another cliché, run-of-the-mill prissy girl with a face maybe a bit prettier than the rest. But _her_?

And that's not even to mention her fire, her burning personality, her charm and wittiness. Her snark. Her confidence, her sarcasm, her ability to stand up for herself without being afraid. Sure, he was drawn to her at first because she's beautiful. But it was after he got to know her that he realised he _l_—he _lo_—he _l-lov_—

He can't bring himself to say it, not even in his own mind. Mostly because he knows she doesn't feel the same. Ikki's words ring in his head: "_You should've seen her face when I told Asami about Korra's little crush!_" A burst of giggles, her mouth moving so quickly he couldn't keep up with the phrases flitting from her and flying to and fro like five thousand fireflies flickering and fighting for his attention. "_She looked like she'd been hit by lightning!_"

_Hit by lightning._

She still likes Mako. If his brother dropped to one knee and proposed to her on the spot, she'd respond with a _yes, yes, a thousand times, yes_.

But he can't control his feelings for her, no matter how much it hurts him.

Her nose twitches again. "Stupid airbending," she growls, flinging her limbs every which way.

He exhales, his breath misting, and he considers taking a step in her direction. Offer her help with airbending. Talk to her. Something. Anything.

"One step at a time, Bo," he tells himself. "One step at a time."


	20. Sink

A/N: Hello there one and all. So, because I don't update AGLY on the weekend, I decided to get up very earlier this Satoday just so I could publish this. I don't think it's the weekend in most of my readers' timezones, so there we go. Anyway, this is a lead-on from the previous chapter [why am I doing so many two-parters recently?] and is almost a true Borra moment. Almost. _Almost_.

Can we say . . . friendzoned yet again?

Also, LadyAvatar did some fantastic fanart for me, the dialogue of which is lifted from chapter one [and remember that you can, of course, add "preview." to the beginning of that URL for a boost of confidence; it's a redirect to a photobucket page]: tinyurl[.]com/borrafanart

* * *

"Hey Kor."

Her head snaps up, her back stiffening. The smooth jazz crescendos to a rare peak as she glances back, visibly relaxing when she sees him. "Oh. Hey Bolin."

"What, didn't recognise my voice?" He's half-joking, half-upset as he walks towards her, palms sweaty, his temperature elevated even in the chill of the early evening. Somewhere behind him, the sun inexorably sinks in the sky, much like a sinking ship. Or a sinking relationship. That seems to be the way it's headed between him and her, because no matter how many buckets of water he throws over the side of the ship, she refuses to aid him along with her bending. This idea of his is starting to go from stupid to bad, worse, worst.

"No. Just wasn't expecting anyone out here. Since everyone else is eating dinner." She frowns. "Bo, are you sick?" He stares, his eyebrows flying into his hair. "Not eating _dinner_?"

"Ha, ha. Very funny. You shouldn't an earthbender like me for granite." He nudges her with his foot and crouches next to her. "What's eatin' you? Not dinner I see."

"I can't get this airbending thing down." She sighs and buries her face in her hands, the breeze from the bay lifting a few bedraggled strands of hair. "I'm the worst Avatar in the history of Avatars."

Now it's his turn to frown. "Korra, c'mon. You're not the worst." Swiftly he searches for an example while his hands brush her neck, his fingers pressing gently into her collarbone, the placement familiar. The familiarity makes him grin. "What about that other water Avatar? The one whose girlfriend's face was stolen?"

"You mean Kuruk?" She leans into him; he senses the blush that comes to his cheeks, the heat that rages through his body, the fire that bids him to draw her closer, his thumbs rubbing her shoulder blades in a motion eerily similar to the one he was doing the day he realised how he felt about her. "How'd you know what him?"

"Eh, Jinora's been showing me a bit of book-reading." To his delight she tilts her head, the collar of her shirt folding to reveal more of the dark skin he's come to love. "Anyway, you know schist happens."

"Stop that, that punning." She shifts slightly; noticing her discomfort, he moves his knees to an uncomfortable position. But she rewards him by chuckling at his pun.

He puffs a breath, tickling the hairs on the back of her neck. "I shale leaf you alone. But this conversation rocks. And you're trying not to smile."

The fabric stretches around his wrists as she moves to hide her face. "Bolin! Stop! You're making me laugh too hard."

"My sediments exactly. This is your pun-ishment for ignoring me. And you _can_ airbend. I beleaf in you!"

The laughter dies away, the smooth jazz gildedly replacing it. "Yeah," she mutters, the clouds overhead rolling under the sun, darkening the day. "If only Mako _beleafed_ in me too."


	21. Love

A/N:

The last chapter, _Sink_, is titled very appropriately, for the ship has sunk.

My loyal fans, Bolin is no longer in love with Korra, and Mako is.

My loyal fans, I cannot write Bolin out of character.

My loyal fans, _A Guy Like You_ has reached its end.

Thank you all for staying with me.

Thank you all . . . for having your hearts broken with me.

-Flut

* * *

_Korra_.

Her name springs to his lips, the sight of the polar bear dog filling him with a hope he has never felt before, not on the streets, not with Mako, not ever, a hope that can never, ever leave him, not even if his heart were ripped from his body.

For that one moment, everything is perfect.

And then that moment ends.

He begins to run towards her, every muscle quivering with the need to touch her, to embrace her, to tell her it's going to be okay, but his brother pushes him back, back in the dark, back onto the side-line to watch, and then Mako takes off.

He sees his brother push Tenzin and the chief out of the way, sees his brother take her in his arms, sees his brother lead her to the sky bison, tenderly lay her out on the saddle, stroke her cheek.

And in that moment, that moment that defies time and space, that moment that destroys his life, he understands that he never had a chance.

The hope leaves him, drained from the soles of his feet. No matter how much he loves her, she loves Mako, and Mako, he realises now, loves her. He didn't believe it when he saw the kiss, didn't believe it there in the satomobile, didn't believe until now.

It's as if his brother has shot him with lightning, the electricity shivering up his spine and stopping his heart. Or maybe his heart was already broken long ago.

He didn't recognise it.

Now he does.

Exhausted. That's all he feels. Exhausted, and tired, and worn beyond repair. If only the earth would swallow him whole so that he wouldn't have to think, to dream, to hope, to love.

Love.

_Love_.

How cruel life can be in unrequited love.

"I want you to be happy," he murmurs, his cheeks wet. "That's the only thing I want. The only thing."

He remembers that one day he had her; he remembers her laughter; he remembers the light in her eyes.

A light in her eyes meant, now and forever, for Mako.

The memories come to him softly, gently, and then more quickly, rushing, running together, overwhelming him, and he collapses to his knees.

If she wants Mako, if she needs Mako, if she _loves_ Mako . . .

Then he will let her go.

No matter that he loves her a thousand times over. No matter that he would sacrifice himself for her. No matter that his façade is shattered, his clever façade he's built to hide that he still loves her.

He has to let her go.

"You wanted a guy like me." It burns him to say it, even this quietly, silent and inaudible as the whisper of wind across the waves. "You thought he didn't exist. But he does." He closes his eyes, the dam cracked, the tears flowing. "Mako _is _that guy."

His voice breaks.

"I love you, Korra."

And then he lets her go.


End file.
